


we're everything and more

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, Sleepy Sex, Top!Archie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the boys indulge in some sleepy morning sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're everything and more

**Author's Note:**

> rajkumari905 prompted me with ‘sleepy morning sex.’ I basically used it as an excuse to write top!Archie. \O/ title from archie’s ‘everything and more.’

David wakes to the early morning sunrise, faint rays of predawn light drifting in through the windows. He’s warm and sleepily content, and for a moment he wonders what had woken him from sleep. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed shows him the time – 6:42 a.m, a full eighteen minutes before he usually goes for his morning run, and for a moment David settles back down into the warmth of the covers, hooking his chin over his companion’s freckled shoulder to sneak a glimpse of his sleeping face.

Cook had fallen asleep after David, he remembers, having seen the older man deep in a crossword before he’d finally closed his eyes and drifted off. The book’s smushed between the blanket and Cook’s hip, the pen he’d been using (smartypants, David thought fondly) lost either to the folds of their blankets or to the floor. 

Cook’s fallen asleep with his glasses on again; they’re a little crooked where he’s pressed his cheek to the pillow, and David knows that can’t possibly be comfortable, the hard ridges of the frames digging into the bridge of Cook’s nose and leaving an angry red indent across the skin. 

His mouth’s slack in sleep, chest rising and falling in steady increments, and he’s curled up on his side away from David, the warm line of his bare back pressed to David’s chest. David huffs out a silent laugh, not wanting to wake his bedmate. They end up in this position more often than not, even if they start out with David tucked against Cook’s chest or even on opposite sides of the mattress. David likes to joke that Cook’s such a natural little spoon that his body just automatically folds into that position no matter where he originally starts out on the bed. 

(Cook grumbles about it sometimes, but David knows it’s mostly for show.)

He smiles down at his sleep-rumpled boyfriend, taking in his crazy bed hair and crooked glasses, his soft snores a little more prominent in the silence of their bedroom, and the long line of his body curled against David’s chest, one of David’s legs nestled snugly between both of Cook’s, a circle of heat and connection that David honestly can’t get enough of.

He feels lethargic and sleepy, still, the burgeoning light outside and the silence of the house contributing to a soft sort of haze that leaves his body loose and a little heavy. He shifts the leg tucked between Cook’s a little higher, rubbing his knee against the warmth of Cook’s inner thighs and relishing in the slow drag of skin against skin. There’s a spark of heat nestled deep in his belly, spreading through his limbs at a slow crawl, and he presses a lingering kiss to the curve of Cook’s broad shoulder, tongue darting out to taste the salt-warm tang of Cook’s skin.

Cook grunts in his sleep, releasing a high-pitched snort that indicates he’s waking up, and it’s a testament of David’s love for the man (and the strength of his burgeoning arousal) that he finds the sound stupidly endearing rather than simply ridiculous.

“Mmphf? Arch?” Cook’s voice is sleep-hoarse and a little slurred. He shifts his cheek away from the surface of his pillow to glance at David, the action making his glasses sit even more crookedly on his face, his eyes going a little crossed as he tries to stare grumpily at the offending frames.

David almost feels faint with the rush of affection that floods his body at the sight; he pinches the bridge of the frames between his fingers, moving the glasses back into place, and can’t resist pressing a soft kiss to Cook’s mouth before pulling away. 

Cook tilts his head, the lazy sprawl of his smile sending a slow moving burn though David’s body. “What was that for?” 

David shrugs, once again tucking his chin over Cook’s shoulder. He can feel himself stirring against the curve of Cook’s ass, can feel Cook, too, warm and thickening against David’s bent knee. “For being so cute in the morning.”

Cook huffs out a laugh. “Cute, huh?” He presses back against the younger man, startling a soft cry out of David as Cook rubs against him, half-hard in his boxers “My bed head that much of a turn on, Arch?” he asks, a devious slant to his mouth, eyes growing dark behind his lenses. 

David groans in lieu of a verbal reply, pressing his forehead to Cook’s shoulder as the other man continues to move, rolling his hips against David’s clothed cock. He slides the hand not fisted beneath his pillow along Cook’s side, over his soft stomach, further down until he can press the flat of his palm against the growing bulge in Cook’s boxers, wrenching a throaty moan from his boyfriend that has David hot and aching in moments.

For a moment all that fills the room is the sound of their breathing, the rustle of clothing and bedsheets as they move against each other. It’s unhurried, long, leisurely rolls of Cook’s hips and slow, steady strokes of David’s hand. After a moment, though, the urge to touch more is overwhelming; David slides his hand, a little slick with the pre-come seeping through Cook’s boxers, past Cook’s waistband until he can wrap his fingers around the bare, heavy length of him. 

“Fuck, Archie,” Cook pants, alternating between thrusting into the grip of David’s long fingers and grinding against the bulge pressed against his ass. He reaches down and back, fingers gripping David’s thigh, pulling at the material of his boxers. “Off. Want to feel you.”

David whines at the words, spoken hoarsely into the thickening air around them, and pulls back only long enough to wiggle the cotton down his thighs and over his feet, tossing them to the floor before returning to his spot pressed to Cook’s back. He pushes at Cook’s waistband, mumbling, “Yours, too,” into his shoulder, peppering open-mouthed kisses along the skin, and shudders as Cook rids himself of the last barrier of clothing separating them.

The sensation of his bare cock resting against the cleft of Cook’s ass sets David’s skin ablaze; he watches dazedly as the wet head of his prick slides between Cook’s cheeks with each shuddering roll of Cook’s hips, pre-come slicking the way, and he needs – oh gosh, he _needs_ -

“ _Cook_ ,” he chokes out, lips unable to form the words he so desperately wants to say, but in the end they don’t need to. Cook hears it in the desperation thick in his voice, reads it in the steady thrust of David’s cock against his puckered skin. 

“Want to fuck me, Arch?” The clarity of his words belies the strength of his arousal, the shivering clench in his belly at the thought of David fucking into him. Just the sensation of David wrapped around him, warm and protective and close, has him flushing with heat. He can’t describe what that feeling does to him, David’s strong, wiry body molding around Cook’s, smaller but still so much _more_ all at once. 

David nearly sobs against his shoulder, unable to speak but nodding his head against Cook’s skin, and at Cook’s hushed insistence he pulls himself away, digging into the bedside table for the tube of lubricant and condom he knows is there, nearly spilling the liquid all over the sheets as he pops the cap with trembling fingers.

There’s urgency swimming in his veins, driving his limbs, but it’s overshadowed by the soft, slow rhythm they’ve had going since that first moment of waking. It’s like sleep is still pulling at their limbs, lending a soft, warm haze to everything, every movement, every touch, and David curves his body around Cook’s once more, sliding his lube-slick fingers between the smooth rounded curves of his ass, seeking out the hot, puckered skin of his entrance.

David doesn’t know whether to watch the ministrations of his hand or Cook’s face as he slides first one, then two fingers into Cook’s body, moving slowly, groaning at the heat, tight and wet and so _good_. He presses his lips to the sweet spot behind Cook’s ear, murmuring hushed entreaties against the lobe, barely recognizing the rasp of his voice, the words pouring from his mouth.

“So beautiful,” is chief among the many words of praise he pants into Cook’s ear, because oh gosh, he _is_ , glasses askew on his face from where he’s rubbing his scruffy cheek against the pillow, eyes closed and mouth slack with pleasure, sweat beading along his brow and in the hollow of his throat, slick against the dip of his lower back. The soft, warm sunlight drifting through the window turns the strands of his auburn hair nearly golden, lending a soft glow to his pale skin and the dusting of hair along his chest and arms. 

David wonders what it says about him that he finds the curve of Cook’s cock against his stomach almost as pretty as the man himself. There’s beauty in the flushed, swollen head, the thick, heavy length of him, the pearly beads of moisture seeping from the slit. David would run the tips of his fingers against the slick, swollen flesh if he weren’t already so focused on sliding them, one after the other and then all at once, into Cook’s hole, drawing throaty growls from the other man’s throat, watching as pre-come drips from his cock to the bed, staining the sheets.

“Archie,” Cook moans, thrusting back and down onto David’s fingers, and David watches with wide eyes, breath stuttering in his throat, because it’s not often that he gets to see Cook like this, totally undone by David’s hands, David’s touch. “ _David_ , fuck.” Cook tosses his head back, eyes half-lidded and searching, and David leans forward to meet him in a kiss that takes his breath away, soft rolling of tongues and slow, heated breath. It can’t be comfortable, the way Cook’s straining back to meet him, but neither of them seem to care much about the discomfort.

When Cook pulls away, lips red and swollen, his cheeks flushed with color, David feels his breath catch all over again. There’s something vulnerable about the slant of Cook’s mouth, his glasses knocked even more askew by their kissing, and the way he’s looking at David, soft and affectionate and _wanting_ , like all he wants is this, David around him and over him and in him –

It surprises David, even now, that someone like Cook, strong and self-assured and beautiful even in his imperfections, could look at David like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, like there’s no place he’d rather be than at the mercy of David Archuleta.

It’s a heady feeling, thrumming in the pit of his stomach and in the rapid-fire beat of his heart, and it’s scary, too, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. But he knows that Cook feels the same about him, he’s been told more than once before, and it thrills and amazes him in turn, leads him to press a lingering kiss to Cook’s stubbled cheek as he withdraws his fingers for the condom, rolling it over his heated flesh along with a generous amount of lube, because despite the long, unhurried finger fucking they’d just engaged in, he never wants to cause Cook any pain if he can avoid it. 

Cook curls his knees upward, presses his cheek to his pillow as David settles in behind him; David hears him panting their shared name, repetitions of _please_ and _yes_ and _fuck me_ , and he guides himself into Cook’s body slow, slow, slow, thrusting forward in steady increments, curling his hand around Cook’s bare hip, watching the progression of his cock into Cook’s hole, the way his face twists in pleasure, mouth slack, open, panting out a steady stream of curses.

The moment David bottoms out, buried to the hilt inside of Cook’s body, the other man rolls his hips, sliding into the cradle of David’s groin, and David lets out a breathy whine, digging his fingers into Cook’s hip.

“Move, Archie,” Cook huffs, wrapping his fingers around David’s on his hip, squeezing, and David doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pulls out slowly, the drag of Cook’s skin along every inch of his cock sending sparks of heat along every nerve, waiting with his flushed, swollen head pressed to the rim of Cook’s hole before thrusting back inside, repeating the movement once, twice, wanting to cry with how _good_ it feels, how hot Cook is, tight and slick and sucking wetly at David’s cock.

It’s been a while since they’ve done this; so often it’s Cook driving their encounters, thrusting into David’s body, making him fall apart one shuddering step at a time, but oh, he loves it this way, too, the way it feels, the way Cook _sounds_ , the way he’s relying on David to get him to the edge and take him safely down to the other side, the way he’s letting David take care of him. It’s such a loaded feeling, such a powerful experience, and David follows the rhythm he’d set earlier, pushing slowly into Cook’s body, drawing out every shuddering breath and slick, sweet slide of skin against skin.

Time slows to a crawl, the only sensation that of skin slapping wetly against skin, the only sound the rush of their breath in the thick, heated air around them, the smell of sweat and sex filling David’s nose, setting his blood to racing.

He can feel his climax building, slow and sure at the base of his spine, his limbs tingling with it, so ready to reach that peak and fly off of it, send them both shooting into the sky. He untangles his fingers from Cook’s, curves his legs beneath Cook’s bent knees, giving himself more leverage; with the change in position he’s able to increase the speed of his thrusts, and he wraps his fingers around Cook’s cock, now more slick with pre-come than ever, and he can tell they’re both close, it won’t take much to send them hurtling over that ledge together.

Cook chokes out a curse as David squeezes the base of his dick, holds the length of it in a firm grip, jacks Cook with sure, slow strokes, speeding up only when he feels the familiar pull in his groin, the sensation of his balls going tight against his body.

“C’mon, Cook,” he murmurs breathlessly, hardly aware of his lips moving at all, lost in the pleasure of the moment, wanting so badly to make Cook feel good, to chase the heat melting at the base of his spine, to feel Cook lose control.

It doesn’t take long, after that. He can feel it when Cook’s orgasm hits him, Cook’s muscles clenching around his cock, come spurting onto the bed and David’s hand, and _oh, oh gosh_ , David thrusts once, twice more, crying out hoarsely as his orgasm washes over him in long, lingering waves, the clench of Cook’s muscles milking him dry, wringing whimpers from his throat.

Distantly he can hear Cook still panting through his own climax; gosh, it seems to go on for _hours_ , slow, shivering wave after wave of sensation crashing over them both, until they’re slumped against each other, breathing hard and shaking in the aftermath.

David feels completely boneless, wrung out and sleepy and blissfully sore, wants nothing more than to stay like this, pressed against Cook’s back, cock going soft inside the snug heat of his body. It’s only when he feels like he can actually move again that he pulls out, whimpering at the friction against his oversensitive flesh, tying off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the waste bin before tucking himself against Cook’s back again with a happy, sated hum.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, tucking his nose into the curve of Cook’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat and sex and Cook, something spicy and warm and distinctly him. He feels Cook shudder against him before he hears the soft huff of his laugh.

“I’m more than okay, Arch,” he says, the rough timbre of his voice sending a thrill down David’s spine (because _he_ did that, make Cook sound that way). Cook stretches out against him, straightening out his legs, and David knows he’s relishing in the soreness of his limbs, the ache of his muscles. He looks utterly satisfied when he turns over, moving so that he’s facing David, sliding an arm over his waist, the tips of his fingers stroking the slightly sweaty skin of David’s lower back.

“Hey,” Cook says, low and a little hoarse, boyish smile making David’s insides go all warm and shivery. His answering grin is probably a little ridiculous, huge and beaming, but he totally can’t help it. 

“Hi,” he whispers back, soft like they’re sharing a secret, and presses his palm to Cook’s cheek as he leans down to press his lips to David’s, slow and sweet.

When they break apart, still smiling goofily at each other, Cook glances over his shoulder at the digital clock and says, “I think you’re late for your run,” and his lips are twitching with suppressed mirth like it’s totally not his fault (and David blushes when he realizes that it’s really not; _he’d_ been the one getting all, um, worked up first, after all.)

He hides his face against Cook’s chest and mumbles, “Skipping today,” smiling as Cook’s whole body shakes with sudden laughter. 

“Sounds like a plan, Arch,” Cook answers, the words nearly lost in a sudden yawn, and in mutual agreement they settle back down against the sheets for a few more hours of sleep. The air’s calm and warm, birds chirping occasionally outside the window, and David closes his eyes to enjoy the morning, feeling sleepy and sated and utterly content. When he peeks up at Cook’s face a few moments later, he grins; the older man is fast asleep, lips parted as he takes in breath. 

He’s still wearing his glasses, of course, and David reaches up to slide them off, rolling his eyes fondly as Cook snorts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds like David’s name before settling down again. 

He sets the frames as far on the other side of the bed as he can, not wanting to move long enough to set them on the bedside table and hoping he doesn’t accidentally roll over on them in his sleep. That done, he turns in the circle of Cook’s arms, unconsciously mirroring their earlier position, and closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to drift back to sleep, the broadening sunlight coming in through the window washing gently over them both.


End file.
